


World At War

by BlueRunawayMoon



Series: Awakening [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Rebirth, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:10:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueRunawayMoon/pseuds/BlueRunawayMoon
Summary: Following Stiles' death, the Pack are left to mourn. Derek becomes a shell of who he once was, hardly ever coming out of his wolf form. Scott begins to second guess his role as Alpha, and John takes up drinking again, finding solace at the bottom of a bottle. It's not until Lydia tell's Derek that she can bring Stiles back that the wolf begin's to have hope for something better again. But when Stiles comes back, it's clear that he's now more.New powers emerge, powers that radiate's from Stiles - making him a powerful beacon to all things supernatural. Beacon Hills quickly becomes a war zone to those that would use Stiles power for their own, and it's up to thePack to keep him safe, while discovering new allies just around the corner.((Teen Wolf & it's characters do not belong to me, nor do any photos/gif's used))





	1. Coming Back

**Author's Note:**

> Re-uploading this after it was flagged & I failed to hear back from support for over a year 😑 If anyone is flag happy please message me so I know what rules it broke and can change them accordingly. Thaaaaanks.
> 
> Will add tags/info later. Pushing this through at work XD naughty

**LAST SEASON OF ANIMAL INSTINCTS \- PART 1 OF THE AWAKENING SERIES**

**Derek glared at the bandaged man behind the plexi glass prison - the Seer, as he spoke to Stiles.**

**"I can see why it chose you. I imagine that big ball of energy inside of your chest is like a buffet of sorts. Always feeding. Even now." The Seer let out a sigh and gave a mock frown. "And while that may be drawing out the process, you won't be in control too much longer. You'll be like all the rest of them and start destroying everything you love the most." The Seer flicked his fingers towards the three who were standing behind them. "Like your friends. You're family. They'll all die. And it won't be a good death, you know. It will be brutal and bloody, and you'll love every minute of it. And then, like all the other's, you'll waste away to nothing but a shell, and die."**

**At the look of horror that crossed Stiles face Derek jerked forward, a growl ripping past his throat, his eyes flashing blue and his claws sharp. Scott moved to him, laying a hand on his shoulders, though his own flashing red gaze was narrowed on the Seer.**

**"Why would you do us a favor?" Derek spit out suspiciously.**

**The Seer looked everyone over. Each and every one of them. "Because you will all need me again one day, and I in turn will need you."**

******************

**"In order to create the connection, I have to draw on the energy from something first. Call it into being. There are marks, glyph's, that hold power and the two of you will both share the same one. It will be physical evidence of the link created between you."**

**Derek grunted in understanding, hardly able to focus on Deaton's words when Stiles was lying there beside him on the cold, steel table, so fragile, so weak. The thought of Stiles falling victim to the Slaugh's darkness, of the loving, honest boy mindlessly hurting those he cared for only to later die was so tragic that it nearly made his wolf whine. He gritted his teeth and cringed through the pain of Deaton carving the glyph into his chest with the dagger laced with wolfsbane, and then moving to do the same to Stiles. And then, when the Druid began to read the words from the tome and the pain slammed into him, so strongly that it arched his back and drew a gasp of agony from his throat, he did not once feel a moments hesitation for what he was about to do. Not if it meant saving Stiles.**

**He just hoped Stiles would one day forgive him.**

********************

**Suddenly a very cold, chilling sensation on the back of Stiles' neck had him turning his head slowly and his eyes practically fell out of his socket as he saw Derek crashing through the tree's coming at him at mock speed, eyes glowing blue. "Oh sweet baby Jesus." Stiles choked out, his heart beginning to pound in worry. Stiles didn't waste any more time. Something inside of him shifted then. Some burning force that spilled through his bones and muscles with liquid hot intensity, and Stiles ran like he had never ran before. Suddenly his feet were aware of every nook and cranny in the ground before they even hit, and his balance shifted to something near perfect. Feeling the air hit against his face with an almost stinging intensity Stiles leveled his breathing to controlled, quick inhales and exhales.**

**********************

**"Oh my god dude, what if I've got the supped up strength now too!" He all but skipped and hopped over to Scott, who was now looking pretty uncomfortable.**

**"I'm not going to let you hit me." He muttered.**

****5 minutes later****

**Scott sighed. "Okay fine, hit me."**

**********************

**Stiles stared down at Parrish as the man sighed deep, scrubbing his hand over his mouth, and it was clear that the Hale Fire case had been on his mind a while.**

**"Stiles I've read that damn file at least a thousand times and I just keep doing it, like I'm searching for something. There's still things about it that don't make a lot of sense. For instance the fact that according to Derek eleven people were trapped inside, but the police report only shows eight deaths. That still leaves two people unaccounted for."**

**"You think more people made it out?" Stiles' eyes widen and he turns to look over his shoulder again, almost as if expecting to see Derek standing there.**

**Parrish gave a weak shrug, shaking his head. "I don't know. I just - it's strange, you know? There's just something about it that I can't figure out."**

***********************

**Stiles felt annoyance rush through him as he watched Scott pace the narrow hallway outside of the loft, hating the fact that they were really out there in the first place having this conversation. And all because of Derek. "We have all fucked up. And yeah, okay. Maybe when we first met him Derek did some pretty horrible shit, but can you honestly tell me that he hasn't changed since his pack died?" Scott scoffed at him, looking away. "People learn, Scott. It's what we do, okay? I don't know what the hell your problem with Derek is, but the shit needs to stop now, because if I'm honest this little piss fight between the two of you has been one sided for a while now."**

**"He's taking you!" Scott shouted suddenly. He swung around at Stiles wide eyes, running a hand through his hair. "He's taking you, Stiles." Scott watched as Stiles drew back in confusion, shaking his head. "Over the past few week's your bond to the pack has grown weaker, and don't look at me like that. It's true. It's a thing, okay? As an Alpha I can feel each individual link of the members of my pack, and yours...Stiles it's starting to shift. And you aren't the only one." Scott said with a weak sigh, all the fight drained out of him. "Lydia's bond is starting to shift too."**

*********************

**Behind him Derek heard the Slaugh scream again and jerked around to see one of the Oni standing behind the creature, it's sword sticking out through the chest of the Slaugh, and as Derek watched, the other Oni advance with a graceful spin, it's sword slashing out and in one smooth motion the Slaugh's head was severed from it's shoulders, falling lifelessly to the ground, and the creatures body went with it seconds later. Derek felt both horror and relief wash over him, and looked away from the empty red eyes staring back at him on the floor, his eyes lifting to the Oni. They were both slashing their swords through the air, ridding the blades of black blood before re-sheathing them with practiced ease. The room grew eerily quiet, no one daring to speak. Suddenly fire surged against his chest. Hissing Derek jerked away from Stiles and pawed at this shirt, ripping it away and watching with wide eyes as the sigil on his chest glowed brightly red, almost vibrating, and then after a moment it began to fade. A cry of denial left him, and he looked to Stiles, his breath catching in his throat when he saw that the boy's sigil was doing the same.**

**"Stiles?" Derek squeezed his hand, noticing for the first time that it was completely slack against is own. "No no no..." Shaking his head he grabbed the boy's face, turning it towards him. "Stiles!" His skin felt cold under his hands. More cold than it should. It felt lifeless. He pulled his body upwards more to a crouch, wrapping a hand around Stiles shoulder and shaking hard, Derek's face contorted a painful mixture of anger and despair. He could feel it slipping away; their bond. It was akin to Derek's very soul being jerked from his body and it left him feeling so bereft and empty that he couldn't breathe.**

**He was vaguely aware of Scott and the rest of the Pack falling down to circle Stiles, and a distant, wailing shriek echo'd through the room, and Derek knew from wherever Lydia was, she was screaming. After a moment the sound faded, and Derek wasn't sure if it was because Lydia had stopped screaming, or he had become numb to the world. When he realized that the rest of the pack's mouth's were moving, their expressions pulled taunt but no sound coming out, he realized that it was him. That he was fading away from everything, drifting in some dark empty place where there was only coldness and death. A place that he knew all to well, that he had lived in more times than once during his life. Stiles had pulled him from the brink before, but now he toppled head first into the darkness, falling into the empty void. And he knew he would never walk away from it again.**

**Staring down at Stiles lifeless body, Derek couldn't help but think 'my fault '.**

CHAPTER ONE

Derek tried. Really, he did. They could never say that he hadn't. The first few days following Stiles funeral the pack seemed to be unable to break away from one another. They were together constantly, no matter where the location. John, Melissa and Parrish had all taken personal leave from work, and Deaton had all but demanded Scott do the same. The school was still temporarily closed, so they were free to mourn. 

Everyone dealt with Stiles death differently. John had begun to drink again, but no one said anything about it; and Melissa tried to be there for the much as much as possible. Scott was going through bouts of intense highs and lows, one moment all red eyed and snarling at everyone, his beta's cowering in a corner, the next he was crying and begging their forgiveness. They always gave it. He and Kira seemed to have grown apart, though, and while they still clung to one another still, desperate for some sort of comfort, their touches seemed more strained and distant.

Lydia never stopped crying. Even when just silently sitting tears streamed down her face, as if it was a permanent state for her. Everyone could smell the guilt rolling off of her in waves, but no one could find it within themselves to reassure her, because they all shared that guilt. Parrish spent hours holding her, rocking her and whispering softly in her ears while she clung to him.

While Liam and Malia grieved, they had also grown even more close than before. As if they were the only two people in the world. But it was not a healthy closeness. It was a closeness in which they pushed all other's out, and often they smelled heavily of anger, pain, and sex. The few times that the pack did see proof in the form of quickly healing but still angry red marks, no one said anything. It wasn't that they didn't care, they just had all grown so numb to anything but sorrow.

And still Derek tried. He tried to be there, even when he couldn't do anything. He tried to be a part of their grief, and he was. Profoundly so. And then, one day, it was just too much for him. He shifted into his wolf form and stayed that way. No one said anything about his change. No one attempted to coax him into coming back. 

Even Thor seemed to somehow know what had happened, and the dog often curled up beside Derek, whining softly, it's scent ripe with sadness. Normally Derek would have snapped at the creature, threatened it with a growl, but he didn't have it in him anymore. So he'd just lay there and let the beast take comfort, even if he himself felt none.

After a week the pack began to come to his loft less and less. They knew Derek was hurt, but they didn't know what to do with him. Derek guessed he could understand. And then eventually they stopped coming altogether. Except for Lydia and Parrish. They came at least twice a week, just sitting there on the couch or floor, running their hands through Derek's fur and doing nothing more than staring at the wall. Lydia began to bring food when she noticed Derek's wolf form growing slimmer. It was nothing more than raw steaks usually. She also started leaving his window open so he could go outside whenever he needed to. She had tried to take Thor with her one day, but the dog had refused to leave the loft, and after finally giving up she began to come every day then, making sure he was always fed and watered properly, and taking him out for walks. Strangely enough when Derek did leave the loft, Thor followed him, but the dog never ran off, just trotted after him and then followed him back home. 

Deaton showed his face a few times, but he never stayed long. Mainly because Derek always tried to attack him. He blamed the man for giving Stiles the amulet that had ultimately killed him, and Derek was pretty sure Scott and John did as well. 

As the days continued to bore on, Derek slowly began to lose himself, his mind regressing to something more animal than man. He slowly began to lose sense of reasoning, until one day he couldn't even remember who Lydia and Parrish were, and after lowering his head and baring his teeth at them, growling threateningly, they had left the loft with wide eyes and fear and confusion rolling off of them in waves. Despite that, he somehow always remembered the source of his sadness. Always remembered warm honey colored eyes and a laughing face, lips turned upwards. And then suddenly those eyes would lose their light, growing dark and dead, and those lips would grow slack, pale and lifeless. Derek spent hours howling until his throat was raw, and then he would just whine.

And it went on that way for three weeks.

*****************************************************************

The door to the loft opened suddenly, and Derek broke immediately from his sleep, his ears twitching slightly and his eyes opening. A familiar scent came to him. That of lilacs and sadness, of the night time air and slight magical undertones, and Derek knew who it was, even though he didn't know. The human girl had come often in the past, but now he rarely saw her, and he had almost forgotten about her in her absence. Beside him the other beast shifted, wagging it's tail and standing to trot over to her, and Derek released a huff of indignation. The beast always acted like a pampered pet whenever she and the human male she was usually with were there. He watched as the girl bent and ran her hand through the other's fur, whispering gently in words he didn't understand, but he could make sense of her scent, at least, and the way it shifted slightly to fondness. He huffed again and shut his eyes, turning his head and trying to return to sleep.

Usually he would growl and snap at the girl, but today he felt more weak than usual, and it was almost too much to even move his head. It felt like all of the life was draining out of him. He released a small whine, wondering briefly if his time was coming to an end. Usually he and those like him would be able to sense something like that. To smell it within themselves. But this...what he felt...it was different. It wasn't death, but something that somehow seemed worse. However that made sense. In a way, Derek almost wished he would die. That way he wouldn't have to feel this constant aching every day. This void that was slowly but surly swallowing him whole. He knew why he was sad, he just didn't understand it. He didn't understand how the human male that he so often had in his head could make him feel so broken. Or why he longed for him. Derek couldn't remember the boy. Couldn't think of a single instant when they had actually met. Yet his face was in his mind none the less. A ghost of a past life, perhaps, one that still had a hold of him in this one. 

Derek had tried to hate the boy and the way he made him feel. He didn't like being so weak. So vulnerable. He spent hours raging at a time, seething and snapping at the other beast, clawing at the furniture in the room and ripping it to shreds with his teeth. Yet, in the end he would always collapse from exhaustion and just break off into miserable whines or broken howls. This was his life now.

He heard the soft pattering of feet approaching, and flicked his ears upwards, turning his head slightly to see the girl slowly approaching. She smelled nervous, scared, but something else was there in the mix. Something warm and almost desperate. It was hope, he realized. She felt hope. But for what he had no idea. There was no way in hell he would let her pet him like she did the other beast. Derek was no pet.

She was speaking again, saying one word over and over softly, looking deep into his eyes and though the word sounded familiar he couldn't quite get a grip of it, couldn't make sense of the strange sound. She stepped closer, only a few feet away from him, and Derek finally began to growl. Just a low rumble to let the human know that that was as far as she came. The girl froze instantly, her fear spiking. Behind her the lighter colored beast whined, shifting on it's feet uncomfortably and Derek turned his eyes to it, growling again. The beast immediately bared it's throat and stepped backwards.

The girl was talking again, this time her voice deeper, more sure, and Derek rose to his feet, only shaking slightly when she took another step forward. He peeled back his lips and growled, trying to tell her to not come any closer. Because, honestly, he didn't want to hurt her. Not really. But he would if he had to. She was saying that word again, that word that sparked something within his mind like a flicker of a candle flame, and once again he just couldn't understand it. The girl held her hand out, and Derek noticed it was only shaking slightly. He also noticed that her eyes were doing something. Water coming from them in deep rivers. It made no sense to him but the sadness that came with the change was so great that it was almost choking to his sensitive senses. He felt himself backing away, surprised at himself as fear crept into his belly. It wasn't the girl he was scared of, not really, just what she would do to him. What she would bring back. Those thoughts made no sense and only increased his frustration and confusion and he whined low, feeling as he collided with the corner of the wall. He yelped and made to run but suddenly the girl was there, grabbing a hold of him and surrounding him, her arms holding him tightly. Derek growled and twisted around, biting her hard on the arm. He heard her cry out and stiffen but she still didn't let him go. If anything she gripped him tighter, now all but screaming at him, and Derek felt something inside of him shifting, something pulling hard and twisting and he bit down harder on her arm in fear, the sharp tang of blood on his tongue. He could hear the other beast in the background barking, loud and shrill, and Derek's ear's hurt from the sound. 

"Derek!"

The word slammed into him like a ton of bricks, and Derek jerked hard, his eyes shooting wide. He released the girls arm instantly, feeling as his body began to shake.

"Derek!!"

He knew it. He knew the word. It resonated deep within his soul and pulled at something buried deep within him, something frightening and devastating that he was not ready to face again. That word was laid heavy on him. Stretched him. Filled him to breaking. Demanded to be heard. He knew why, even though he wanted to deny it. But he couldn't. Not any more. The word was him. He was Derek. Images began to swarm his vision. Images of running on two legs instead of four. Of ten fingers and ten toes, and not paws. Of smooth skin with only a slight dusting of hair on his chest, arms and legs. And a thick crop atop his head. 

"Derek...................Stiles............."

The new word slammed into him even harder than the first, and Derek started to whine again, letting out fearful yips as the human male came to his mind. The one who had laughed so easily. The one whose eyes used to look at him as none ever had before. Derek saw himself as he had once been, lying in a bed with the human boy as the boy stroked his face with such tenderness and affection. He remembered standing outside on some dark street under a street light, the two of them yelling at each other in the rain. And then his memory went even further back. Derek saw the boy standing behind another. There were tears in his eyes and he was looking at Derek with such a lost expression that it killed him a little inside. There was a woman in the room with them, and Derek knew the woman had caused his pain and he had wanted to kill her, only stopping from doing so when the boy had called out his name. Memory after memory flooded Derek. Climbing in the boy's window at night time, watching him swing around with wide eyes in his computer chair, nearly falling backwards each time. He saw them together in a pool, the boy holding Derek up when he could not feel anything from the neck down. 

He saw himself pushing the boy against a door, grabbing onto his jacket and glaring down at him, watching the way the boys scared eyes kept flickering back and forth between his lips and his eyes. He saw a time in a police car, when Derek's own had done the same thing.

He went all the way to the beginning then, when he had laid eyes on the boy for the very first time. He had caught his scent in the woods before actually seeing him. Something so warm and alive. Something that had beckoned him in a way that he had not understood. He remembered how he had deliberately ignored the boy, instead looking and speaking to his friend, because if he looked at him he wasn't sure how he would have reacted. 

And then....then he remembered the boy dying. He remembered holding him in his arms, watching the light slowly leave his eyes, his face pale. He remembered the boy trying to speak, words that would have added up to something so profoundly beautiful, but terrible as well, because Derek had known he would never hear them from his lips again. 

Something burst to life inside of him, spreading from every nerve ending and vein, and Derek trembled hard as his body began to shift, and then whine from the intense pain of it. The transformation from beast to man had never been painful for him, but it was now, and before long his cries carried on a more gutted, human like quality, until he was screaming from it, panting harshly and slumped naked in Lydia's arms. He could feel Lydia shaking almost as heavily as him, her arms holding him tight. Derek couldn't move. His entire body screamed and ached and felt like dead weight, and he knew his weight was nearly topping Lydia over but he couldn't move off of her. He didn't want to anyways. Now that he was a man once more, realization and horror dawned on him. Horror of what he had allowed himself to do, to try and forget, and shame slammed into him with enough force that it took his breath away. He felt helpless to the tears that began to blind his vision. To the sobs that choked his throat. With what strength he had he gripped the back of Lydia's shirt hard, his hands fisting in the slinky material and his head buried against her collarbone. 

Lydia accepted him immediately. Her arms tightening around him and one going to the back of his neck, her fingers threading tight in his hair. She laid her head against his and cried with him, rubbing his back.

"I tried....oh god what did I do...." He was disgusted with himself for trying to take the easy way out. For being such a coward and leaving everyone else to mourn on their own. He would never forgive himself for this. Ever. He was a pathetic excuse for a man. He had never deserved Stiles to begin with, and this only further proved that. Stiles, who had sacrificed himself for his friends. Who had loved with such a fierce intensity that all of their lives felt barren without him. 

Lydia's rocked him gently, though he had no idea how she managed it when he was all but laying on her. "Derek, come on I need you here with me. Can't do this by myself."

Derek shook his head, still whispering words of self loating that would that would rival that most guilt ridden person alive. Actually, with the way he felt right then, that position may very well belong to him. He heard Lydia release a cry of distraught, and then pull away until their faces were close to each other, her hands coming up to grasp his cheek as she forced his gaze to her wide green watery eyes. Derek stared at her like a deer caught in the headlights, struggling to breath and not curl into a little ball on the floor like he really wanted.

"Derek, please. This is important, I need you to focus for me, okay?" Her gaze flitted over him, and she cringed as she took in his filthy state. Licking her lips she gave a nod then, a look of slight determination on her face. "Okay. We need to get you up and clean. Get you fed." She nodded again and then with a grunt attempted to pull out from under him. She shoved gently at his shoulders to get him moving and Derek rolled off of her, laying on his side and instantly beginning to draw his knee's up. "No no no. Come on, Derek!" She dropped to her knees, shaking his shoulder, but Derek just tucked his head into his knee's and wrapped his arms around his legs, shaking his head. Lydia stared down at him a moment, her jaw clenched tight and her lips drew thin as she tried to control her own need to join him on the floor and do nothing but cry. But she had been doing that for three weeks and she couldn't any more. And she wasn't going to let Derek. Grabbing onto his shoulder she jerked him around hard until he was twisted slightly, staring up at her with wide eyes. Lydia glared down at him, feeling herself shake slightly with emotion. "You need to get up, now." She bit out.

A look of slight surprise ghosted over Derek's features, and for a moment it looked like he would ignore her, curl back in on himself, but then suddenly he was shifting and pushing himself up, grunting with weakness. Lydia cried out in relief, moving to help and wrapping her arms around his waist so Derek leaned on her. 

"Come one. Let's get you to the bathroom." She said softly, looking down at Thor who was laying on the floor and watching them, every once in a while letting out a soft whine. She walked with Derek down the hall until they were in the small room, and leaned him against the sink while she moved to turn on the shower. She cast a look over at Derek and found him just staring blankly at the wall, shoulders slumped and almost drawn in on himself, head lowered towards his chest. Sniffling slightly she left the water mainly cold, hoping that it would snap him out of it a bit. Returning to him she again helped him over to the stall and under the spray. Derek sucked in a sharp hiss as the water hit his back and Lydia tried not to care that she was also getting pretty much soaked from the waist up. She rubbed along his back reassuringly before grabbing a loofah and his body wash and pouring a fairly large amount onto the thing, lathering it up before taking Derek's hands and putting them around the sponge. Derek stared down at it a moment and Lydia cringed, thinking she may be about to have to wash him, but after a moment he began to numbly run it along his arm. Nodding she grabbed the bottle of shampoo and pulled his head down gently, squeezing some into her hand and starting to wash his hair while he washed his body. It took two washing's of his hair until the thick black mess wasn't clean again, and by that time Derek was working on scrubbing his lower stomach and Lydia turned to give him some privacy. "I'll get you a towel." She said softly, watching as he nodded silently. She sighed softly and headed out of the bathroom to the small linen closet directly across from it and took out a thick red towel. She looked down at the thing a moment, at it's vibrant color, and immediately started crying because it reminded her so much of Stiles hoodie. That damned thing he always seemed to wore that she had hated. Gripping the towel to her chest Lydia leaned against the wall and despite her will to not cry a few tears still managed to slip through and she wiped her face with the towel, staring up at the ceiling. 

She had been coming to Derek for weeks now, trying to get him to snap out of it. She wasn't sure how much time they had left. Each day their chances grew less and less. She had been trying to tell Derek just that, but in his wolf form he had never seemed to understand her. Not until tonight at least. Finally. 

Lydia just prayed that Valack was right. That there really was a chance they could bring Stiles back.

***************************

Derek quietly finished half heatedly drying himself off and looked down at his folded clothes on the toilet seat Lydia had brought in for him moments ago. It had been so long since he had actually worn clothes, and in a way he still felt more wolf than man and wasn't too keen on experiencing the stifled sensation. Luckily Lydia seemed to have guessed just that, and had brought him a lose tee shirt and some sweats. He picked up the sweats first and stepped into them, holding himself up with a hand on the sink for balance. He was still weak. Frighteningly so, and casting a glance up in the mirror he saw that he had lost a little weight over the past few weeks. His gaze rose to meet his eyes, then, and after a moment he forced himself to look away, unable to meet the shame swirling there. Grabbing his shirt he all but ran from the bathroom, pulling it over his head as he headed down the hall. He heard Lydia in the kitchen and walked in to see her at the counter, making a few sandwiches. Thor was standing at her feet and he moved instantly to Derek as he appeared, rubbing his head against his thighs and whining. Derek stared down at the dog a moment before reaching out and laying his hand in it's thick white fur, and Thor all but started purring from the attention, darting his head up to place a lick on Derek's wrist.

"I tried to take him back with me, you know."

He looked up to see Lydia staring down at Thor with a soft smile, two plates in her hand. "What?"

"The dog." Lydia said, moving to sit at the table and nodding for Derek to do the same. "I tried to take him home with me a few times. He would never leave though. I think he thought he had to be here with you. Almost like he had an obligation."

Derek sat, leaning back against the chair and looking down when Thor sat beside him and laid his large head in his lap, hungry for touch. Derek didn't deny him. "It wasn't that." He said softly. Lydia shook her head with a frown and he cleared his throat. His voice was deep, scratchy from not using it in so long. "It wasn't obligation. To him I am pack, and while I think he consider's you pack too, I'm higher in the hierarchy. It was loyalty."

Â 

Lydia looked at him a moment, silent, before just nodding and sliding one of the plates over to him.Â 

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Derek stared down at the sandwich, his stomach recoiling painfully at the sight. He knew he needed to eat, but at the moment it just looked so unappealing and he almost felt sick just thinking about it. He knew that Lydia would not let him be though until he at least tried, so he picked up the sandwich and took a small bite, sitting it back down and chewing slowly. As he knew she would, Lydia gave a small smile and took a bite as well.

Â 

They sat like that a long moment. Neither speaking, the only sounds their soft chewing and the ticking of the clock on the wall. Though it was obvious both had a lot they wanted to say. Lydia was all but twitching and Derek had began to dig his nails into his thigh. Just when Derek was about to break the silence, though, Lydia spoke.

Â 

"How are you feeling?"

Â 

He sighed, sitting his mostly eaten sandwich down and pushing the plate away to pick up the glass of water and take a drink. "Weak. Sore. It's like every muscle is stretched too thin." He swallowed hard. "I think I stayed in my wolf form too long."

Â 

Lydia reached out and laid her hand on his, squeezing gently and throwing him a small, shaky smile. "You'll get better."

Â 

No uptick in her heart beat. No hesitance. She honestly had faith that he would. That all would be right again. Derek wished he shared her optimism. "How is everyone?" Cause he needed to change the subject. Couldn't face the thought of a future in which he would be 'better' when Stiles wasn't there. It just felt too fucking wrong.

Lydia's gaze fell to the table and she slowly drew her hand away, licking dry lips. "Not good." She said softly. "I honestly haven't seen anyone but you, Parrish and the Sheriff in about nine days. Everyone is just....no one's dealing, you know? It's like we can't."

Of course they couldn't. Stiles had been the glue holding them all together, and they really hadn'tÂ fully realized that until now, when he wasn't around. Derek cut off a weak, bitter laugh, remembering a time when Stiles had been so unsure of himself and what he meant to everyone. Well. This was it. This is what he had meant. Without him none of them could even live. Not really. They could survive, yeah. But notÂ live. And honestly - Derek wasn't sure he could even survive. It hurt. So fucking much. To the extent that he felt like was dying. Because the though of being here without Stiles...of staying here in this empty loft where they had spent so many days together, even before they had given in to their feelings for one another - was stifling. Derek felt his heart start to pound immedietly at the prospect and flinched, his shoulders hunching and his hand tightening to a fist on the table. He lifted his hand to cover his face before he could make even more of a fool of himself when he started crying again, feeling so heart broken that he couldn't breathe.

He heard Lydia push her chair back and stand, and then she was at his back, wrapping her arms around his neck and leaning into him.

"I don't think I can do this." Derek gasped out, his fist pressed tight against his stomach as he tried to suck in gulps of air that somehow just wouldn't reach his lungs. "It hurts too much."

Lydia released him and Derek almost whined from the lack of her touch, his wolf still acknowledging that she was important. That she wasÂ pack, and that, no matter how much Derek hurt, if anyone could comfort him it was her. She was only gone a second, though, as she walked around the chair to kneel in front of him. Derek let her pull his hand away from his face after a hesitant moment, even though he hated the though of looking so vulnerable. She wrapped both her hands around his neck and pulled his head downwards until their foreheads were touching, and the gesture reminded him so much of something his mother used to do that he almost whined again as he closed his eyes.Â 

"I know, and I'm so sorry. I hurt too. We all do." Lydia whispered, her voice strained, and Derek could smell her salty tears as the scent hit his nose. "But you aren't alone, Derek. And even though things have.....everyone's so...broken now, we're all here for you. Derek we need you, okay?Â I need you. So please promise me you won't try to change to your wolf form to escape the pain, okay?"

Derek's lips twisted back from his teeth as he choked back a sob. He lifted his head slightly and looked up at Lydia. Really looked at her, and saw how utterly broken she looked. Exhausted and hurt. Sleep deprived and tear stained. Frail. On the verge of falling apart. She hadn't been lying when she said she needed him, and that truth meant more than Derek than he thought it ever would. Looking at her right then, seeing her in all honesty and completely bare, he realized that she reallyÂ was pack. Through and through. He could feel the bond if he concentrated hard enough. It was thin and fragile. So fucking fragile. But it was there. Sniffing, Derek raised his hand and placed it on the back of her neck, until they were mirroring one another, and he gave a small nod, swallowing hard against his tears. "Okay....okay. I'm sorry."

Lydia nodded as well, whimpering a bit but he could tell that it was a sound of relief. They stayed like that for a moment, taking comfort from one another, before Lydia finally drew away. She wiped her eyes and then turned to look up at him, and Derek was a bit taken aback by the hardness in her gaze. It was a look he had seen her wear often in the past, and one that he was not expecting, and he felt his heart skip a beat at what it may mean.

"I said that I had something important to tell you, and I do." Lydia licked her lips, sucking in a slightly shaky breath before continuing. "Derek it's about Stiles."

He felt his gut clench at his name and nearly looked away, but managed to hold himself firm, forcing himself to not run and hide to some dark place within himself. "What?" He managed to choke out.

Lydia reached out and took his hands, holding them within her own tight grasp. "I think I can bring him back."

Derek stared down at her a long while, thinking that he hadn't heard her correctly. That he was just hearing what he wanted more than anything else in the world. The he was fucking dreaming and any minute now he'd wake up still in his wolf form, huddled in a corner of the loft. Alone. So fucking alone. But when Lydia's gaze did not waver, and her heart beat reminded steady, he felt his own begin to pound in his chest. He stared down at her with wide, shocked eyes, his hands beginning to shake slightly from the mess of emotions racing through him. A chaotic combination of hope and doubt, and it was so strong that he felt light headed. Dizzy. Finally he found his voice again, and choked out one word. "How?"


	2. Dream a Little Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH. I'm dying from all the wordiness, misspelling, grammar errors, and fluctuation between the tense's. But honestly I can't find the will to edit it now lol I'll possibly get around to it at some point, but in the meantime bear with me pleeease.  
> Will add chapter title later when I remember what it was XD

_LYDIA!"_

_Lydia jerked hard as Stiles all but screamed in her face, his hands hard on her arms. Her head bobbed back and forth as he forcefully shook her, trying to snap her out of it and focus her attention on him, but she couldn't. There was too much at stake. The Seer was right. If Lydia didn't do something, now, then all their friends were going to die. In that moment, she realized how big a mistake they had made, breaking into the lower level of Eichen House like they were something special and not just a bunch of stupid kids. Sure, they needed the Seer to find out what the hell they were up against exactly, but what was the point if they all just died? And they would. The Seer was right, the scream was lodged in the back of Lydia's throat, just **waiting** to be set free and mark all of their doom's. _

_She was vaguely aware of Stiles swearing sharply before finally giving up on her. Jerking away and running back towards the sound of gun fire and battle where Scott and Derek were fighting the guards still. Lydia wanted to cry and and beg him not to go, because she knew it would only bring his death faster, but she couldn't. She couldn't even speak anymore, not with the scream filling her throat. She was horrified that if she opened her mouth it would spill out and that would be it. If there was one thing she knew, he scream was **never** wrong. Not for the first time Lydia found herself cursing her inability. Her lack of knowledge of her own power and how to utilize it to help those she cared for. _

_"I can help you." The Seer spoke again, and Lydia's eyes shot to him, wishing yet again that Stiles had not left - because she was scared of being alone with the man. There was just something so...seductive about him, and Lydia was afraid that without someone there, she wouldn't be able to refuse him._

_But honestly? Did she want to? Really? If it meant she would be able to help her friends?_

_"That's it..." The man all but purred, his body practically pressed against the glass in an attempt to get to her, his palms flat against it's surface. "Trust me, Lydia. If you want to save him, it's the only way. There's not much time." Though his voice was soft, gentle even, his eyes were desperate and hungry, and it reminded her so much of Peter that she shivered. in fact, everything about this screamed Peter. He had used her, bent her to his will, and in the end this was what the Seer sought to do as well. Wasn't it? Why else would he be asking her to open her mind to him? "Lydia.....Lydia!"_

_Lydia jerked, and in that moment, she felt it happen. Something within her head shifted, unlocked. A door sliding open. A window cracked. Across from her the Seer sucked in a deep gasp, his eyes all but rolling back in his head and his body growing taunt, and then Lydia felt it. Something **flow into her**. A presence that was not her own overlap and take residence, while whisper's danced around her ears and within her mind. A thousand different voices all spoke at once, yet somehow what should have been a chaotic storm was instead like a soft breeze, calming almost. Vision's danced behind Lydia's wide unblinking eyes, and she desperately tried to hold onto their fleeting transparency in the hopes that one of them would give her the answers she needed to save her friends. And then, suddenly, as soon as the spell had taken over her, it was gone, retreating quickly from her body, and leaving only one thing behind. One small piece of information that was more instinct than tangible sense, and Lydia's head tipped back, her eyes ghosting over in foggy white as her mouth stretched wide and a piercing, shrill scream spilled past her lips. Finally. In a haze she felt a sense of giddiness course through her, because she knew in the back of her head that this was not like her normal screams. This was something else. This was a scream that held power. A scream to fight. To protect. To save._

_She began to slide down the cell behind her even before the scream had ended, her body growing heavy, tired, and when her voice finally faded away to nothing more than an echoing memory her shoulders slumped and her head went down towards her chest, her body going into some type of state of recover. She didn't fight it, just sat there staring at the cement floor, feeling a heady mixture of both relief and creeping fear. Because she knew what she had just done. The choice she had made._

_A moment later she felt someone kneel in front of her, brush her hair from her face and tilt her head up. Lydia blinked a few times, trying to focus her vision, finding Stiles in front of her speaking soft words of comfort and relief. She whispered his name and he all but beamed at her, a smile so wide and bright on his face that it was nearly blinding. He pressed his forehead against her own and hugged her briefly before pulling away and Lydia turned to see Scott and Derek collapsed against a cell across from her. They were wounded and in pain, but they were okay. And it was because of her._

_Because she had allowed the Seer entry._

_Unable to help herself, she turned her head and found the man staring down at her, and cringed at his expression. He didn't have a wicked, victorious grin on his face. His eyes weren't narrowed in deadly glee. He was just staring at her. Face a complete mask. And that scared her more than anything._

*********************

Derek stared down at Lydia in horror, his mouth gaping and his brows furrowed close together. He felt her hands tighten around his own and smelled the nervous spike in her scent, the anxiety and doubt. "Are you fucking crazy?!" He finally managed to belt out.

Lydia flinched instantly, her face contorting. She clung onto him, her eyes urging. "I had no other choice! I had to do it to save you all! if I didn't you would have...Derek we were all about to die."

"You don't know that!" Derek hissed, pulling away and coming to stand, staring down at her with wide eyes. 

Lydia glared up at him before drawing straight, her head tilted down in defiance. "Yes, I **do.** i **did**. My scream's are never wrong, Derek. Ever." She said again, much like she had told herself that night in Eichen House. "We were all going to die if I didn't do something. So I did what I had to, and it worked. It's been working ever since."

"Ever since?" Derek's eyes darted left and right then, memories replaying within his mind. "All those times you hurt the Slaugh with your scream...when you used it as a weapon...that was because you let some fucking guy in a mental institution inside your mind?!"

Lydia clenched her jaw tight to keep from screaming in frustration. No. Not frustration. She knew what she was feeling, she just didn't want to admit it. Shame. They had all been down this road before. With Peter and then the Nogitsune. And she was bringing them all down it again. She knew that what she did could end in disaster and ultimately hurting those she cared about, but she had been desperate at the time, and it had been the only way. "It's not like...Nothing's happened, Derek."

"How can you know?!" Derek shook his head angrily, his eyes beginning to flash blue. "Lydia the last time with Peter you didn't even know! Stiles didn't know! You've put **all** of us in jeopardy." Derek watched as Lydia flinched so strongly it was like he had hit her, and in that moment, as he watched her face fall and smelled her shame grow, he realized this is what had been bothering her the past few weeks. Why so often before Stiles death she had seemed guilt ridden and exhausted. She had been struggling with what she had done. 

Derek wants to yell at her, to call her foolish and strike out more. Because it was foolish and it was dangerous. She had made a decision that affected the pack as a whole, so should have been made by the pack as a whole. But what was done was done, and there was nothing they could do to change it. At least not not. 

The knowledge that Lydia had obviously been beating herself up for weeks, almost months, was what calmed him down. She was pack, and though she had done wrong, he couldn't stand to see her so conflicted. Letting out a sigh Derek reached out and pulled her forward, and Lydia fit herself against his body easily, resting her head on his chest and just slumping against him, all the energy draining out of her. A part of him still felt slightly awkward touching another so freely and offering comfort. He had always been so bad at it, unsure of himself, but his instincts were driving him and for once he just let himself trust that they knew what they were doing. 

"I'm sorry." Lydia whispered against his shirt. "I just didn't know what else to do. We were all going to die, Derek. We were."

Derek looked up at the ceiling, wishing in that moment that he was just one of those people who could say exactly the right thing at exactly the right time and make everything better. But he wasn't. That had been Stiles. "How?" He whispered.

Lydia frowned, looking up at him. "What?"

"How are we supposed to bring him back?" He looked back to her. "You said that you know a way."

Lydia nodded, pulling away from him. "I don't. But I think I know someone who does. The Seer, do you remember when he told us that we would need him one day? I think he was talking about this."

Derek remembered. The man had looked at each one of them with a strange knowledge, one that only those of his kind possessed. "So what. We've got to go back to Eichen House now?"

"No." Lydia licked her lips, glancing up at him nervously. "After that night, when I.....I've seen him again. Twice now."

Derek frowned in confusion. "What? How?"

"In my dreams." 

A heavy, incredulous silence falls over them, because Derek doesn't know what the fuck to say about that.

Lydia sighs, running a hand through her hair in frustration and then remembering it's up in a bun and she untangles her fingers from her red locks. "Only their not really dreams. It's something else. I looked up it and I think the closest thing I've found to it is astral projection. Or at least a form of it. Anyways, I've seen him twice again, each time he's dodgy and cryptic as hell but...." She draws off, looking unsure. "He shows me things."

"What kind of things?" Derek sit's back in his chair, because really, this is too much and he can't take it standing 

"Things about myself. Or rather my powers. And actually it's not really so much that he shows me things as...I just...know afterwards."

Derek closed his eyes and sat his elbows on the table, laying his forehead on his hand and closing his eyes. Inside of him his wolf was all but snarling one moment and then whining desperately the next. Demanding and begging to do this. That if there was any way it could have Stiles back, it was worth it. It wasn't like Derek thought otherwise. He would do and give anything to see Stiles again. To touch him and hold him. To fucking argue with him. Hell even if it meant Stiles hated him the rest of his life, he was okay with that, too. As long as he was alive. "Does Scott know about this?"

"No." Lydia said softly, sitting beside him at the table. "No one else does. You're the first person I told."

"Why? Why come to me with this?"

"Do you really have to ask that?" She all but whispers like it's so obvious.

Derek guesses it is. He's not sure how Scott would react to the information. How any of the other's would react. Bringing someone back from the dead...that was...that was a lot. Derek wasn't dumb. He knew something like that didn't just happen without consequence. There was always a price to pay, and Scott would no doubt know that. Derek knew that. The only thing was, he didn't care. "What do we need to do?"

Lydia's gave a watery laugh, wiping at a tear and nodding her head. "Whenever I've spoken to Valack - which is his name by the way - anyway it's just like it...happens all on it's on. I've never been able to purposefully speak with him, even though I've tried. So I did a little research, and found a few ways that could possibly work. But if it does, my body will be vulnerable and I'll need someone to watch over me and pull me out after a set time."

"And what happens if I can't pull you out?"

Lydia paused, and Derek knew the answer even before she spoke. "I could be trapped within my own mind."

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face before pinching the bridge of his nose. It wasn't like he hadn't expected as much. "And you're okay with taking that risk?"

Lydia nodded instantly, like he knew she would. God he wanted this to be true. So much. He would give anything for it to be true. But things that seemed to easy rarely were in the end. And Derek knew that this Valack wanted something. He had no idea what, but was sure at some point the man would make it known. But even so..."How are you even sure that this is possible?"

"It's not like it hasn't exactly happened before." She said, speaking of Peter. "But I just know. I can't explain how, but I do. This is what we're supposed to do, Derek. And I can't do it alone."

Not a minute had passed that Derek hadn't longed for Stiles after his death. Even when he had escaped to his wolf form, his thoughts were plagued by the boy, desperately needing to see him. Derek thought about Stiles father then, the way he had looked holding Stiles body that night. How he had hardly held himself together at the funeral, and then later, when they'd all band together afterwards and John would always have a drink in his hand - his eyes far away and clouded. John was broken without his son, no doubt felt like he had no body left, even though Derek knew Melissa would always be there for him. Scott would. They all would. Derek was a fucking disaster. A shell of who he once was, and he couldn't help but wonder how John felt, because surly the loss of a son was greater than the loss of a loved one. Blood was important. Blood was binding and permanent. It instilled a closeness like nothing else, and Derek felt sick to his stomach at the thought of John feeling such pain. He wanted to bring Stiles back not only for himself but for John as well. For everyone. "I'll do it."

********************

Lydia was vaguely aware of Derek pacing the length room, an anxious mess of constant twitching and heavily messed hair from running his hands through it so often. Thor sat near the couch, the werewolves nerves to strong to allow the dog to really relax as it twitched as well, releasing slight whines every once in a while. Lydia was right there with them. 

She and Derek had pushed the couch, coffee table and recliner to towards the walls of the living room, and lifted the area rug that covered the hardwood floors so she could use her chalk to draw herself into the circle. She lifted the backpack she had brought with her and took out the four small, flat circular mirrors and four beeswax candle as well as her lighter. She was aware of Derek watching her as she lit the first candle and tilted it sideways, allowing the wax to fall to the center of the small mirror. When there was enough she sat the mirror down directly in front of her on the chalk line, and then pushed the candle base into the wax, holding it in place a moment until she was sure it would stay. She moved to do the same to the other three, placing them at her left and right, and then behind her. 

"What is are the mirrors for?"

"Mirrors have always been gateways to other worlds. With one at each elemental point it's supposed to strengthen the spell that allows the journey." Or so she had read. Because, honestly? She had no idea what she was doing. Stiles had a few of Deaton's books that he had over the years secretly been stashing, and Lydia had gathered them all from his room, hoping to find something that could help her seek out Valack, and she had. 

"And the chalk line?"

"For protection." She muttered, digging once again into her backpack and taking out a wooden bowl and a thick smudge bundle, tied together by white rope. The scent of sage, cedar and lavender wafted heavily from the thing, and Derek's nose crinkled. She sat it in the wooden bowl and then pulled out a thick rope of braided red yarn. "Here, I need you to tie one end on my wrist, and I have to tie the other on yours." She held her hand up, the yarn, which was at least a good three feet, danging. 

"What is it for?" Derek asked as he knelt beside her and took one end of the yarn and tied it around her wrist. 

"It's supposed to be a tether for me. A way to find my way back just in case I get lost...wherever I go." Lydia gathered the other end and waited for Derek to offer his wrist, and tied it to his as well. She stared at where they were connected, sighing after a moment before looking at him. "The book says that if the yarn grows taunt and snaps......"

Derek growled, not needing her to continue for him to understand. Once again he felt a heavy wave of doubt wash over him. "What if you get stuck there, Lydia?" Cause he didn't think he could lose another person. He couldn't. Lydia had somehow pulled him out of the darkness this time. If something were to happen to her....he wasn't sure what would become of him.

"I won't." Lydia murmurs, trying to keep the slight tremble from her voice, though she's sure Derek was aware of the way her heart sped up. It wasn't like she wasn't scared of it, because she was. It was just she was more scared of losing Stiles forever. She would do this. She was ready to take that risk. And while the thought of being trapped within her own mind was not something she was too fond of - because honestly, her mind could be darker than she'd like to admit; she knew that this was something she had to do. She had to at least try. "Are you ready?" She asked, looking up at Derek who was still watching her with a furrowed brow. She noticed how much slimmer his face was then. How haggard and tired. How his beard had grown to something more unkempt and scraggly, his eyes shinning with exhaustion and from crying. God. They weren't doing good. None of them were. "Hey." Lydia lifted the hand that was tied, laying her palm against Derek's cheek. "We're going to get him back."

Derek's jaw worked tense a moment before he nodded stiffly, lifting his own hand to press it against Lydia's a moment before drawing back away. "What should I be expecting?"

Lydia nodded, pulling her hand back as she started to burn the smudge bundle, her nose twitching as the overwhelming scent immedietly drifted to her and she knew that it must smell even more strong to Derek. "Honestly? I'm not totally sure. I'm supposed to start meditating while burning the smudge, while thinking of my purpose. The book say's I will just be in a trance state."

"So just sitting there not talking?"

"Pretty much." She turned large eyes to Derek again, her lips parting. "If...If something happens and I don't...."

Derek growled low, his eyes narrowed slits. "Don't. This is going to work." It had to. There was nothing else.

Lydia inhaled a deep, unsteady breath before looking away and lowering her head slightly to stare at the smoking bundle. She felt a ripple of hesitation ghost over her, a survival instinct coming into play, and forcefully shoved it down and away. This was not the time to pause. She had to believe that this was going to work. Closing her eyes she straightened her spine and inhaled deep, held, and then released. Doing the same thing over and over again, urging her body to relax and her mind to clear of nothing but the thought of Dr. Valack. Of speaking with him again. 

For a few minutes nothing happened, and despite her best effort Lydia felt frustration beginning to bloom, but then, as if on cue, she felt a ....tingle. Like that feeling you get when you're foot's fallen asleep, only no pain. Just soft vibrations and warmth. It started in her extremities first. Her legs and arms, and then began to move inwards in a soft glide, until her belly was filled with warmth that spread to her chest, which felt suddenly full and heavy. But it was a strange heaviness, because at the same time Lydia felt weightless, like she could float away at any minute. And then the tingling spread further into her head, and suddenly everything went black.

Derek jumped slightly when Lydia's head tilted backwards and her eyes surged open. And then, when he watched as a white cloud covered their usual green color, he felt a sickening moment of fear that something was wrong with her. But her heart beat was steady, and he smelled nothing off in her scent. After a moment he settled back down beside her, looking down at the red thread tethering them together before back up at her.

And waited.

****************************************************************************

Lydia opened her eyes to find herself under what appeared to be a bridge tunnel. She stood there a long moment, and it was like she were underwater. Everything seemed quiet. Not silent, but hushed somehow. Like a cloak was laid over the world. She turned slowly to look behind her, and found herself looking at Derek's loft through the opening of the tunnel. She could see Derek sitting on the floor directly at the tunnels edge, his brow furrowed as he stared towards her. But he couldn't really see her. She realized that. His wrist was still bound by the red thread, and Lydia followed it's path to see that it stretched far more than it's usual length and to her. She lifted her hand and looked down at where it was attached to her wrist. It laid slack on the ground, and she took a testing step backwards, but the thread did not pull taunt, just continued to lay there, stretching impossibly. Turning away from Derek Lydia looked in front of her, and found that beyond the other opening of the tunnel there was nothing but dim white light. She tilted her head slightly, trying to peer through the glow and make form of anything. There was no sound coming from the white. Only silence. Realizing that the only way was forward, Lydia began to walk, feeling the fray of the thread tickle her wrist as it moved with her. 

She moved continued forward until she was just at the edge of the tunnel, the white right before her, and somehow it seemed to be more than just particles of air and light. It seemed something - though not solid - still with substance. She lifted a hand slowly, carefully, and pressed it against the faint glow and found that it gave easily against her intrusion, after a slight resistance. Nothing to forceful. Just like that second when your palm touches the surface of water before moving further down and your hand is surrounded. It's not a bad feeling, and doesn't frighten her at all surprisingly. It's just....something there. 

Lydia pulled her hand back, staring down at it but fond that it was just as it had always been. Nothing new. Nothing left behind. Turning slowly she cast one last look behind her, seeing in the distance that Derek still sat there at the other edge. Watchful. Waiting. 

Lydia stepped through the light.

When she next opened her eyes she was standing in a familiar room, see through plexi glass at her back. This was Valack's cell, then. She scanned the area, finding him nowhere to be found. Her eyes automatically moved to the small bed in the room, expecting to find Peter laying there, but he was not, and Lydia couldn't help but feel a small sense of relief for that. She had never felt comfortable around Peter after what he had done to her. In the beginning all she could feel was anger, and even fear. And though a slight twang of that fear still existed, now, somehow, her anger had shifted to something very similar to betrayal. It was a ridiculous concept, to feel betrayed by a man she did not even know, but it was there all the same. And she hated Peter because of that. Hated the way he had used her. The way he had paraded within her mind as a soft spoken beautiful boy, when inside he was nothing but a burnt out husk. Even after he was resurrected. She hated how coy he was. How sly and conniving. How cocky. How deserving he believed himself to be. The fact that his bite had, in fact, acted as a conduit to her banshee powers settled like a bad taste in her mouth and a sickness in her belly. 

But what she hated most, were the moments she had actually seen the man be gentle and caring. Like when Cora was dying. When Derek was dying in Mexico, and a look of absolute pain crossed his face. Those moments made it harder to remember that inside he was a monster, laying in wait for his moments to strike. 

Forcing her gaze away from the dingy mattress Lydia looked the room over again and this time noticed something that hadn't been there before. A door towards the back of the room was slightly a jar, pale light spilling in through the crack. Lydia frowned at it, assessing what she should do. She lifted her wrist to see the red thread still in place, though honestly she had no idea where it's line lead, and as she told herself to follow it's length it was like her thoughts couldn't focus on the act, and after a moment when her head began to hurt she just let it go. The thread was there. It was around her wrist. That was all that mattered. She moved towards the door. It was large, steel. Looking like it belonged on something similar to a bank vault with it's iron wheel. And maybe that was symbolic for something, but she couldn't seem to focus enough to think what at the moment so just continued forward until she was just at the door, staring down at the light between the crack. She briefly wonder's if this lift will be the same. Feel the same. But after lifting a hand and dipping a few fingers against it she finds that it's nothing more than just that. Light. 

Blinking a moment, making a decision in her mind, she finally closes her hands around the iron wheel and with some exertion pulls open the door wider, wide enough for her to slip through.

"I'm impressed. You actually found me all on your own."

Lydia blinks against the glare of the room, her hand over her eyes a moment. When the light becomes more bearable and dim she finally lowers her hand and looks around the room, surprised at what she finds. It's a bedroom. The walls are done in a light, almost robin's egg blue with trim's of intricate white. Lydia can feel plush carpet under her bare feet and looks down, noticing for the first time that she is wearing a long white dress that is more like a nightgown than anything. She watches as her toes move against the thick beige carpet a moment before looking up again. The room is decorated for that of a child. There is a single, tall white dresser, covered in plush stuffed animals of varying sizes. At her right there is a rocking chair. It's white and looks old. Like it's been passed down from generation to generation, and some of the paint is chipped of and the brown shows underneath. But there's just something about it that seems so....so warm and loving. There is a dark blue and gray fleece blanket thrown over it's back, depicting elephants. The rest of the room is decorated in a similar way, photo's of cartoon-ish jungle scenes and giraffe's and lions. Lydia realizes then what the room is, and the wooden crib against one wall only proves just as much. 

Valack is standing beside the crib, holding a small stuffed tiger against his chest. He's staring down into the empty crib, and Lydia is taken aback by the lost, almost haunted expression on his face. She hesitates a moment, unsure what to do or say, but Valack set's the tiger carefully back down inside the crib and then he's turning to her, his eyes narrowed. Like her other two dreams of the man, the bandages are free from his head. Here eyes automatically lift's to the center of his forehead, and all that is there is small, white vertical scar, and once again she frowns at it.

"So. Astral Projection, then? And what is that I smell." The man tips his head back slightly, scenting the air. "Ah. Sage. And lavender as well, I think. Someone's been studying."

"I need your help." Lydia speak's immediately, not wanting to waste whatever time she may have. The book had said that often times your awareness is jolted back into your body unexpectedly until you become well accustomed to the form of travel, and Lydia doesn't want to open her eyes and be in the loft again without knowing how to bring Stiles back.

Valack arches his brow at her and tips his head. "And I suppose you expect me to do that? What makes you think I will."

"Because you said it yourself." Lydia eye's him, her gaze narrowing. "At Eichen House you told us that we would need you again. This is it. We need you."

Valack is silent a moment, his eyes searching, contemplating. "Alright, fine, I'll take the bait. What is it you need help with?"

Lydia frowns at him then, confused. "Don't you know?"

"If I knew, I wouldn't be asking you."

"Then why would you say that in the first place?"

The man releases a deep, tired sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly. "That's not the way this thing works." He lift's a hand to point at the scar on his head absently. "Not exactly, anyways. Well, yeah sometimes, but not now." He looks annoyed at himself, angry even. "When I said those words I knew they were true, but not exactly what they meant."

"But I thought that Seer's saw everything. That they knew everything."

"We do. That doesn't mean the information is always available to us, though." At Lydia's confused frown he once again pointed to his forehead. "This knows everything. See's everything. My mind and my third eye are not one in the same. If you are going to understand how this works, you need to start thinking of it as a being all on it's own."

That...well that was something else. "It doesn't matter. We need you now, and I have a feeling that you are the only person that can help us."

"A feeling?" Valack scoff's, though the sound is not one of amusement. "Alright, then. Why do you need my help."

Sadness immediately weighs heavy on her, so heavy that Lydia curls in on herself a bit, her fist tight against her stomach. "It's Stiles. He's dead." 

Valack pales considerably, his eyes going wide. "What do you mean he's dead?"

Lydia notices the way his voices tremble's slightly, and it makes no sense to her. Stiles was no one to this man. Why would his death affect him. "He died almost a month ago saving all of us. Defeating the Slaugh."

Valack is storming towards her then, his eyes slightly wild and his jaw clenched. "How could you let this happen?! Back in Eichen House I told you all to do the ritual, that it was the only way to save him."

"We did do the ritual!" Lydia stumbles away from him with wide eyes. "Derek did it. But he had some amulet that contained his darkness and he used it to kill the Slaugh. It...using it killed him too. What are you doing?! Get away from me!"

Valack finally stopped crowding her, jerking away with a hiss, running his hands through his hair. "This makes no sense! I saw that...when I looked at him I...." He drew off suddenly, his head tilted to the side and his eyes wide. "Unless....unless it was supposed to be like this. Unless this was the only way it could happen."

"The only way what could happen?" The man wasn't making any sense, and Lydia was beginning to fear that this was all for nothing, that he didn't have the answers she needed, and that horrified her. 

"It has to be. It's the only explanation!" Valack swung to her, moving forward, his eyes frantic. "You have to awaken him. Now. You might not have much time left. He's in stasis right now, but that won't last forever. If he doesn't feel the Call then he has no reason to come back. You need to give him that reason!"

"I don't understand! What am I supposed to do?!" Lydia gasped and tried to jerk away as Valack reached for her, but his hands clamped tight around her shoulders as he forced himself into her space. The scar on his forehead was shifting. Lydia stared up in horror as she watched it break apart. Split open and suddenly she was staring at the Eye. 

Her mouth slid open and her eyes widened as she stared, images rushing within her mind, one after another. Filling her head to bursting. For a long moment they stood like that, silent, until a full body tremor rushed over Lydia and she began to come back to awareness. The scar on Valack's head began to close again, it's edges drawing closer and closer together until, once again, it was nothing more than a thin white line. Valack released her and stepped away, and Lydia slumped against the wall, only barely catching herself before she slid down. 

"You know what to do now." Valack drew out, his voice still hurried. "You need to go back, now."

"What just...."

"Lydia!"

Lydia jerked hard, cringing. Her gaze darted around the room, remembering where she was, and then landed on Valack. The two looked at each other a moment, wide eyed, and then Lydia nodded. She lifted her wrist to see the red cord hanging. Wrapping it in her fist she lifted her other hand as well and grasped it, beginning to pull at it, moving forward and following it's length. When she looked up again, she found that her location had once again changed, though now it looked like she only walked through darkness, only the dimmest of light surrounding her. In the light, though, she saw thick fog curling around her, felt it against her face. 

The darkness seemed to echo, and was cold, almost unbearably so, and Lydia shivered despite herself. She narrowed her eyes and trailed faster after the thread, ignoring the sense that she was not alone. That there were things out there in the darkness watching her, studying her. Fear settled heavy in her belly, but she ignored it as best as she could. If she let it take over she knew that she would halter and stumble. That she would be forever lost in this sea of black. 

Suddenly, in the distance, a light flickered. Lydia paused, peering with narrowed eyes at the small red flicker. There was something about it that whispered to her. Something that called, and before she could stop herself her feet had already turned and she was moving towards the flickering light just as the whispers started all around her. 

As she walked, the light grew, and before long Lydia was running, trying to cross the distance for what seemed like hours, and then suddenly the light was directly in front of her. She jerked to a stop, her eyes shooting wide and her hair billowing around her face from the raging fire in front of her. Her mouth opened and she stared wide eyed at the Hale house as it burned, having no idea why it was there or how she had gotten to it in the first place. The whispers suddenly turned into screams, and Lydia fell to her knee's with a cry of pain, holding her hands over her ears to try and block out the sound, because there was so much pain in the screams. Agony. And Lydia knew then that it was the sound of those trapped within the house being burnt alive. 

She shut her eyes tight, feeling the fire hot on her face. Her tears dried instantly against the flames, and when she opened her eyes again she fell with a choked gasp when she found that she was no longer outside the house, but in it. Flames were everywhere. At every side of her, even on the ceiling above her. Lydia had no idea what to do. She was trapped, no way out. Drawing her knee's close to her chest she wrapped her arms around herself as her panic began to bubble to something near hysteria.

"LYDIA!!"

The scream was one she had heard before. One that had pulled her back from her mind another time in her past, and she stared with wide eyes as Peter came barreling through a open door, running through the fire and falling to his knee's beside her. His hair was a mess on his head his eyes wide and wild, and when he lifted his hands to grab her shoulder's they shook. 

"You have to get me out of here! I can't get out!"

Lydia cried out as he shook her hard, his voice desperate and choked. She tried to push his hands away, but he would not budge, and his grip was starting to really hurt, no doubt bruise. "Get off of me!" She shrieked, pushing at him again, feeling herself matching his own hysteria.

"GET ME OUT!" He bellowed in her face.

Lydia flinched hard, shutting her eyes, and the thread at her wrist snapped.


	4. Sacrifice

Stiles knows a lot. Seriously. A lot. Years of having an in depth and totally mutual relationship with Google Search had left him with thousands of facts, both useless and beneficial. It helps that he's smart, because that way he can just soak up information, store it in his minds internal files, and keep it there for when he so needs it. He's also always been fairly good at putting things together. Linking things. Understanding things. It most likely had something to do with the fact that his dad was Sheriff, and he had been sneaking case files since he was a kid, reading over them with rapt attention and interest, trying to solve the cases himself. In fact, he had been fairly certain that once he was through with high school and went off to college, he'd most likely take some classes in Criminology, and then head off for the Academy. He could see himself as a member of law enforcement so easily. After all, he did want to protect people. To help other's, fight the bad guys. Family business and all that stuff. 

So, suffice to say, he was a kid with a pretty level head on his shoulders. Sure, he may get into a few binds - a few close encounters with the wrong side of the law that would most likely land him in jail if his dad wasn't Sheriff. And let's not forget all the supernatural occurrences where he had just barely managed to get out unscathed by the skin of his teeth. But those things were expected when he had the friends he did. And his life was the way it was. Sure. It wasn't typical, or even all that great sometimes, but he really did try to focus on the positive things, you know? But one thing he did realize, was that when you were dealing with the supernatural, sometimes the positive could be pretty hard to see.

And this? Stiles was almost 100% certain that this had something to do with the supernatural. About 90/10, really. 

White. Nothing but white all around him. Stiles is aware that he is laying horizontal, but he can't feel anything under him. Because there was nothing. Nothing except for sea of never ending white, and to be honest, it was more than a little concerning. Strangely enough, though, he wasn't full on panicking. Just lying there slightly confused and curious. He's got on a warm, comfy pair of Batman pajama bottoms and a dark blue tee shirt that's equally as comfy, as if he had been in bed just moments before, and he supposes that's logical, but he just can't remember. Anything. Not coming to this weird place that wasn't a place, or anything beyond that.

Well, he knew obvious things. Like he knew his name. He knew who he was and his friends. He knew his birthday was just in a few more days and that there wasn't much high school left. He knew that he had been freaking out about colleges, because he wasn't sure what he was going to do yet. Stay in Beacon Hills or take that leap of faith and head off for someplace new. And he knew he was in love with Derek Hale. He knew that he hadn't actually told the guy yet, but hopefully the sourwolf could see it clearly. Hell Stiles was pretty sure everyone else could. 

He wasn't sure how long he laid there, and Stiles got this weird feeling that it had only been seconds, yet at the same time it felt like forever, and that just confused him even more. He supposed that he should really start to try and figure this thing out. Where he was. How he had gotten there. And honestly all the white was kind of starting to freak him out. It was too bright against his eyes, so he shut them, wishing he were somewhere else. Somewhere nice and warm and safe. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was in a cave. And there was a fire in front of him. For a full minute he just sat there, staring at the fire with a frown, and then he very slowly stood. a ratted old blanket falling from his waist to settle on the stone ground. He could feel the coldness of the stone seeping into his bare feet, and blinked in slight surprise of the sensation a moment, before moving towards the entrance of the cave, and the light beyond. For a moment he thought he would step into the white room again, but instead he found his feet crossing over slightly damp, soft moss, and looking around with wide eyes at a forest. He didn't recognize it as the preserve, yet there was something about it that still seemed vaguely familiar. Like an old dream he was trying to remember.

_"Oh, look. He's finally doing something. Took long enough. I was really starting to worry about his intelligence."_ Came a deep, mocking voice from seemingly everywhere, and Stiles walked in a circle a moment, trying to find the source of the voice.

A heavy sigh followed the voice, and another, more soft and velvet smooth answered. " _The insult is nowhere near as effective when you're just mocking yourself."_

" _You and me both_." The first voice again. " _Isn't that right, Bones_?"

Okay. What the literal fuck? "Whose there?!" Stiles cried out, his heart rate picking up for the first time. He continued to spin in a circle, his narrowed eyes searching the tree's.

" _Are you ready to see us now, then_?"

Stiles swung around with a soft gasp at the voice directly behind him, and for a long moment just stood there, blinking. Because...yeah. This was something else.

There were three men standing in front of him. The one that had spoken stood in the middle, a dark blonde brow arched high and his lips twisted in wiry amusement. He had short blonde hair that was slightly uneven in places, as if the guy just took scissors to his head and cut whenever it was getting too long. That wasn't the only strange thing about his appearance, though. He was wearing Armour. Armour that Stiles knew well, actually. He had seen it many times while researching his own heritage. It was Polish hussar Armour. A striking array of deep reds, vibrant golds and even the spotted leopard cloak. The shinning metal breastplate didn't seem to be winged, though, like most of the images Stiles came across were, but that didn't take away from the beauty of the Armour, and Stiles found himself searching the man over from head to toe in deep awe. He finally noticed the man was smirking, and there was something so strangely familiar in his eyes and his expression that Stiles was caught off guard a moment, briefly wondering if he knew him. But that was impossible. He was sure he'd remember someone as striking as the blonde man in front of him. 

"There a reason you're wearing hussar Armour?" Stiles asked vaguely

The blonde man looked pleasantly surprised - maybe even proud. "Well look at that. He's a smart one. Good. This will make things easier." He turned to grin at the other two men, wagging his brows, and Stiles took in the man at his left first.

The first thing that crossed Stiles mind was that he looked like a homeless person. He was dressed in nothing but rags, and didn't even have shoes. The man was old, but on closer inspection Stiles had a feeling that not nearly as old as he imagined, and that his face was only so withered and etched with lines from a hard life full of deep struggles and hardships. His hair and beard were both long and wild, and he was frail. Dangerously so, and all Stiles wanted to do in that moment was get the man a burger. The man turned his eyes to Stiles then, and he felt the breath leave his lungs. Once again he was stumped with a sense of familiarity, and he didn't know why. There was something so genuine and gentle about the man's eyes though, that Stiles felt like even if they were complete strangers he knew somehow he could trust him. The man gave a faint, almost hesitant smile, and Stiles found himself returning the smile, feeling a deep kinship with the man.

He finally drug his eyes away and this time focused on the man to the right of the soldier, and felt his brows rising slightly. This one had long midnight black hair that was half done in varying braids down his back, while some locks laid free down his chest. There were long black feather's interwoven in his braids, and the man had striking black tattoos against pale skin. Black intricate swirls and designs on his face and neck, and vanishing down into a thick, furred cape. Looking down, Stiles spied some breeches and what looked like well worn brown leather boots that traveled up the man's calves. Stiles pulled his eyes away from the man's strange clothing and felt a rush of something warm and powerful pulse within him as their eyes met, and for a moment he could not pull his gaze away from the unblinking stare that once again, felt strikingly familiar.

"Who are you people?" His voice finally broke free the question.

The man in the middle gave a crooked grin, clasping his hands together. "Right. Well, the sad one here we like to call Bones. For obvious reason's. And then the pretty one beside me is Mikolaj, but, also for obvious reasons, we just call him Kol. And I'm Aleksander."

Said pretty one gave a deep sigh and cast an annoyed glance over at Aleksander before turning to Stiles. "We have been waiting for you to decide, and now that you have, we're here to help."

Stiles frowned deep in clear confusion. "Decide? Decide what?"

"To move forward." The old man said, his voice thick and slightly hoarse. 

Stiles arches his brows, his mouth opening. "Okay." He says, drawing out the word. "As much as I love the whole cryptic non-answer thing, it's really not helping in terms of actually understanding what's going on here. Where am I? How did I get here?"

"See, Bones, I told you no one likes the wise man thing." Aleksander moves away from the three, approaching Stiles, and lays a heavy hand on his shoulder. They are exactly the same height, and Stiles finds himself staring straight into his familiar eyes. "What our cryptic friend here is trying to say, is that we only appeared to you when you wanted us to."

"I don't even know who any of you are. So that's kind of impossible."

"Are you so sure?" Aleksander says, a ghost of a smile catching his lips. 

"I don't understand. Where am I? How did I get here?" He ask's again, feeling the fluttering sensation of panic fast approaching.

"Unfortunately we can't answer that." There's something in Kol's voice that reminds Stiles of the hush of midnight and deep, dark earth. "You have to figure that out on your own."

"Frankly I'm curious why you've brought us here, too." The one wearing the hussar armor, Aleksander, looks around the forest with clear disdain. "Bones, how's the homecoming?"

The thin man gives a soft laugh, but his eyes are sparkling as he takes in the woods around him.

"So...are you guys the newest big bad's? Cause if so, I gotta say I'm not feeling very threatened. Weirded out, totally. But not threatened." Stiles tilts his head with a frown "Actually, am I dreaming or something? Because this seems like a dream I would have. Right before it turns into a highly disturbing porno. I swear the moment I glimpse a tentacle I'm out of here, though."

Varying expression's cross the three's faces, mostly confusion. The one named Kol eventually speaks. "We're wasting time."

"Time for what?" Okay. He was starting to panic. Just a smudgin. But seriously, how could he not?

The skinny one in rags that they referred to as Bones steps forward with soft eyes. "Let me help you to remember."

"Remember? Remember what?" Stiles takes a step back, his eyes darting around the forest and his nerves telling him to just run until he makes his way to civilization again. 

"There are steps that must be taken. An order of things. I can help you complete the first. You just need to trust me." 

A hand settles on his arm, and he jumps. The fact that he's so on edge and scared makes him angry, and he's about to tell the old man off but as he looks at him again, and their eyes lock, he's lost for words. Once again something shifts within him, and a sense of calm slowly settles the nerves of his belly. Bones smiles kindly before turning away and walking towards the cave. Stiles stands still a moment before he's compelled to follow, not even bothering to glance at the other two, who are watching him closely. He dunks at the cave's entrance, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness before finding the dim light of the crackling fire. The cave is nothing special. Just a hole in the rock maybe twelve feet wide. Despite that, there's something strangely homey about it.

The thin man stops on one side of the fire and sits, looking up at Stiles with flames reflected in his eyes. He motions for Stiles to join him on the ground.

Stiles hesitates a moment before sitting across from him, looking at him over the fire. "So...is your name really Bones?"

"No. It's just a name given to me by Aleksander."

"Rude." Because, yeah, it kind of was. "So what is your real name?"

"I don't have one."

"What? How can you not have a name?"

"I was born an orphan. In my time when children were given to those at the monastery they were not given names. Most died before their first year, so it seemed pointless."

Stiles isn't sure what to say to that. stared with his mouth open, having no idea what to say. What had he meant when he said 'in my time'? He was old, yeah, but not THAT old. Certainly people of the cloth weren't that cruel now days to orphans...right? "Well while it does make you seem badass, I don't think I can just call you Bones. Have you never given yourself a name?"

"No. But if you want, you may give me one."

Stiles arched his brow. "Really? You'd just let me name you and go by it? For real? What if I said something ridiculous?"

Bone's shrugs a very thin shoulder. "You don't have to if you don't want to. It mean's little to me."

Stiles tried not to feel like a bird that had just had it's feather's bristled. "Alright, alright. Let's all calm down." He taps his index finger to his bottom lip a moment, his eyes traveling over the man and assessing. Out of nowhere a name floats to the surface of his conscious. "What about Prym? It's Polish. It means -"

"First." There's a pleased grin and a strange gleam in his eyes. "I think it fit's perfectly."

Stiles claps his hands together with a grin with a nod to seal the deal. "Alright! Awesome. Prym it is then. Oh, my name is Stiles, by the way."

"Stiles, what is the last thing you remember?"

"I don't know I guess I was.....me and Scott...actually I think...." He drifts off, his face slowly changing from confusion to fearful panic, because he _can't remember._ Anything. He knows who he is, and who his friends and family are. But that's it. "Why can't I... I don't understand."

"It's okay to be scared. I could help you remember, if you wanted. Do you want that?" His voice and expression are comforting, and Stiles finds himself nodding eagerly. "Look into the fire, then. It will help you."

"The fire?" What was this, some crummy B rated fantasy movie about a young boy awakening to his true powers? "Of all the dreams..." He rolls his eyes but does as Prym says, looking down at the dancing flames. He watches the dancing flames, and how the red glows deeper at the base of the fire where it licks against the wood. It's cracks and pops echo off the cave walls, sounding over and over again in his ears. Soon a vibration begins to glow within him, making him slack and sluggish. Sleepy almost. He lazily lifts his gaze, hypnotized by the way the flames reflect in Pyrm's own eyes.

Eyes that he knows and which he'd seen many times before. It's the strangest feeling of looking into a mirror. Within Pyrm's eyes, the fire swirls and changes, morphing into other images that place across Stile's vision. He see's himself and Scott in the preserve at night time. He see's the moon high in the sky, and he see's as they find the dead body. He see's a tall, dark man standing on a small cliff across from them, his face an angry scowl, and just like that, everything comes back.

He see's every happy memory; he and Scott's unbreakable friendship, and growing close with Lydia. He see's himself falling in love with Derrick, and just when warmth has begun to swell and fill his belly from that memory, he see's death as well.

Ryan.

A wave of betrayal washes over him as he remembers who he had though to be his friend transform into the Slaugh. 

Stiles remembers Ryan wounding Derek that night in the loft, and he remembers being kidnapped, and then their battle in the warehouse.

_The Oni._

The cold sweat of dread washes over him like a wave, and Stiles feels himself begin to shake.

Because he remembers everything now. He remembers dying. 

The realization slams into him and draws the breath from his lungs, and Stiles falls back against the rock ground, scrambling backwards with wide eyes. "I'm...I'm dead." His throat feels tight, and the words come out croaked. He struggles to his feet, feeling his vision going in and out as his mind rebels. His hands reach outwards, trying to grasp onto anything that will anchor him. Through blurred vision he see's Prym watching him with a saddened expression. "You all knew it....Who are you? Where am I? Oh god...is this..." He draws off with scared sob, not wanting to finish.

"Hell?" Prym's voice is calm still, but more careful, like he's talking to a wild animal. "No. This is not Hell."

"Then where am I?!" Stiles screams, beginning to tug at his hair, needing to do something with his hands. 

"There are many names. I've just come to call it the _Between_. And as for who we are, we are here to help you. To guide you."

The cave is spinning. He need's to get out. He tries to find the light of the entrance, but all he can see if the glare of the fire, but suddenly it's warmth feels empty. "Help me how?" 

"In taking the next step of your journey, whatever choice you decide on."

Giving up, he falls to his knees, the sting from colliding with the stone only vague to his senses. He feels unhinged and weightless, and wraps his arms around himself seeking some sort of security. "I don't understand what's happening." His face are wet. Tears. He's crying.

"A part of you died, yes. But it was not a true death. Not yet at least."

He doesn't want to hear that. He doesn't want anymore nonsense and confusion.

"Your mortal shell died, but your conscious still lives."

"Am I being judged?" His terrified mind still can't release the idea of Hell, and consequences.

"Yes, but not in the way you think. You are judging yourself."

He still doesn't understand. "Why would I be judging myself?"

The fire flickers between them, burning bright in the dark confines of the cave, and Prym watches him. "You are special, Stiles. You were born special, and because of this you have the chance to turn back, if you wish. But you have to make that decision for yourself, and we are here to help you. To guide you. The moment you sacrificed yourself for those you love, you initiated something larger than you can imagine."

He was special? His entire life Stiles had never been special. He was...well, he was Stiles. He was the awkward, flailing spaz that everyone knew and had eventually grown to love. He was a human. He was...normal. "What am I supposed to decide?"

"The only thing there is left to decide. If you accept your death, or wish to fight it."

The fleeting sensation of _hope_ flutters in his belly. "Does it even matter if I fight it? I'm dead. There's no going back from that."

Pyrm motions towards the fire. "When a fire burns, it burns bright and strong, it's flames never wavering. But like all things, it cannot last forever, so after so long, it's flames grow smaller, weaker, until dying out. But there is a time before the flames die in which the fire can be coaxed to life again. A spark, the smallest of flames, licking against wood. The spark is fragile and the slightest breeze can distinguish it. But if you were to lay another piece of wood atop it, to urge it gently back to life, that spark will grow, eating hungrily at the wood until it is once again a raging flame. A beacon in the darkness." He looks at Stiles. "You have that spark inside of you. And thought it appeared to be snuffed out, it is there, just buried deep and waiting to be coaxed to life again. If you so choose."

"You're saying...that although I've died, I can...go back."

"Yes. But it is not a decision that should be so easily made."

How was it anything _but_ easy? How was there any choice besides life? "And this judgment? How does this work?"

"It is something only Aleksander is able to help with."

"Why can't you help me?"

"Unfortunately the first step, Sacrifice, has already been completed. Aside from helping you regain your memories, there is nothing else I can do."

Stiles knows there is more to his words, something deeper in meaning, but he can't quite connect everything. Not yet at least. From what he was beginning to gather, the three of them each had a certain role to play, and Prym's had been Sacrifice. Which made Aleksanders what...Judgement? Why? What was the significance there? 

Prym had yet to say anything about who the three of them really were, but the familiarity of them was still in the back of his mind.

Seems the only way to find his answer, was to go along with their plan.


End file.
